Journey Toward an Organized Home: Japanese Style

I received Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up:  The Japansese Art of Decluttering and Organizing as a Mother's Day gift this year.  Was this a hint?  I've always been fascinated by pristinely organized rooms, storage solution magazines, and decluttering detoxes, but have never had much success with keeping my own home in such a state of order.  Kondo's manual impressed upon me that if I followed her program, this time would be different.

If the decluttering program itself is as pleasing and gentle as her writing, then I believe her.  I finished the 224-page book in less than 24 hours (while working full-time and caring for three children under five), so that in itself was magic.  And then I completed the first step of her program:  shirts.

Rather than focusing on what to get rid of, Kondo emphasizes the importance of what to keep.  She insists upon the magic of being surrounded only by those things we love.  To decide what is worthy of staying in the home, she asks the reader to take every item from the same category (in this case, shirts) and gather them all in one place.  I dumped out the contents of three under-the-bed storage bins, cleared out my dresser, and removed every shirt, sweater, and jacket from its hanger.  When I heaped them all together, I was shocked by their abundance.  The pile stood two feet tall and dwarfed my 45-pound 4-year-old daughter.  And remember, that's just the shirts.

Feeling mildly disgusted with myself for accumulating so much, I got to work.  Kondo's method involves taking each item into the hands and asking, "Does this spark joy in me?"  Having never before practiced this method for decluttering, I was at first tentative.  Does this spark joy? How would I know?  The first few items I threw back in the pile, still uncertain.  But then I felt it--as I held a shirt in my hands, I experienced a certain lightness in my chest, a small half-smile forming on my face.  Odd, I know, but holding that shirt, eyeing it, considering it, actually gave me a feeling of joy.  It became the first shirt in my "keep pile," and I thoughtfully plugged away at the rest, being sure to thank each discard for the warmth or pleasure it had once given me.

As my garbage bags of giveaways grew (I had to return to the kitchen for more bags; my initial assumption that two would be enough was incorrect), I started worrying.  Am I getting rid of too much?  What if I have nothing left to wear to work? Shouldn't I consider an item's practicality, too?  But Kondo's words reassured me:  holding onto things based on fears of the future or the sentimental hold of the past would never bring me joy.  In fact, several of my belongings did quite the opposite.  I felt tethered to gifts of the wrong size of those that didn't suit my taste.  Kondo encouraged me to recognize the piece of clothing as the gift that it was, the gesture of kindness from another, and then part with it with gratitude.  My grateful goodbyes resulted in three kitchen-sized garbage bags tautly stretched over my discarded shirts, transparently holding their innards like so many sausage casings.

Throughout her book, Kondo insists that if the reader properly declutters once, according to her guidelines, then it will never have to be done again.  I've only taken a small first step in that direction, but am already hopeful about the possibilities.  She has allowed me to imagine a home where I can quickly find what I need and am surrounded by only those things that make me happy, a home permeated with a sense of peaceful joy.  How to get there?  I guess it's time to move on to Step 2:  Pants & Skirts.